Vintage Tesla
by Deathofme
Summary: For Sanctuary Bingo  Nikola's idea of a celebratory night includes expensive wine, annoying Helen, terrorizing waiters, and more expensive wine.


**A/N **For Sanctuary Bingo, prompt: Nikola Tesla

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><p><strong>Vintage Tesla<strong>

"The 1986 Puligny-Montrachet."

The waiter's eyebrows shot up in admiration. "A _very_ excellent choice, sir. May I ask if this is a special occasion?"

"Most certainly, and I plan to drink lots of expensive wine…and then more expensive wine I can't pronounce."

The waiter nodded. "Very well, sir."

Helen was finding it very hard not to roll her eyes at him, and folded her napkin into her lap instead. Nikola just gave her one of his insufferable smirks as he fastidiously, but discreetly, wiped down the countertop.

"Well, I know it isn't your birthday…" she started, "…so I can only see this as an excuse to use up my good will at Alfredo's and make me pay the bill."

Nikola ignored her for a moment as the wine arrived. The look of sheer ecstasy on his face as they had their first tastes was sheer flamboyance, but she had to admit it was a superior vintage.

"Or I'm trying to get you drunk so I can take advantage of you. And enjoy the lovely, discreet view of your legs from the vantage point of a rather tall bar stool."

He grinned wickedly as she immediately crossed her legs. "But really, we are celebrating something momentous today."

The waiter, to his credit, hid his alarm well when he was called over again only fifteen minutes later and the bottle was empty. Nikola rubbed his hands together as he debated.

"Let me see, let me see…we'll do the Château Lafite next. Nothing after '72 if you please."

"Ri-right away, sir. I believe we have a '67." He scurried away.

"Nikola, stop scaring the staff."

He pouted. "But it's so much fun."

Helen tapped her foot against the floor, thinking. "First patent?"

"No."

"Unveiling of your statue in Serbia?"

Nikola pretended to stroke the moustache that was once his calling card. "A very touching tribute…but also, no."

"Nikola, you're being impossible."

The waiter arrived with the dusty bottle and Nikola eyed him critically. Helen could already see where this was going and shot him a stern look, but Nikola pretended not to notice her.

"You've kept us waiting here for ten minutes, young man. The integrity of that wine is wasting away by the second. If this is going to be the pace of your service all night then I might as well order my next bottle now, and try to prevent such shameful waste."

The waiter's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "_Another_ bottle, sir?"

"The Mouton Rothschild '45." Nikola turned his back deliberately to signal the end of the conversation. The waiter looked to Helen for help and she smiled sympathetically back.

"This is why I can't take you out anywhere," she muttered.

"Oh, come on. I'm fun."

"And expensive. You're spending all of my money."

He pretended to give that careful consideration as he drained his glass. "You don't do anything interesting with it."

Helen lifted an imperious eyebrow. "I save lives."

He pulled a face. "And only buy black dresses. Really, Helen – embrace some colour. A touch of red in the bust line would draw attention to those neglected, yet superb-"

"_Nikola_."

"-assets of yours." He grinned, toasting her mockingly and already halfway through their current bottle, earning stares of mixed incredulity and awe from the bar staff.

Helen gazed at him thoughtfully and then leaned in, her voice lowered. "Is it Katherine Johnson's birthday?"

She caught him off guard. He looked mildly stunned and then stuck his face back into his wineglass. "I said I was celebrating, not mourning."

Helen immediately felt sorry for her guess. She didn't know how best to move on from the decidedly awkward silence. Their water came into view and became the hapless target for Nikola's sardonic bite.

"You, skippy."

The waiter had a hang-dog expression on his face as he trudged reluctantly over. "Yes, sir?"

Nikola scanned the exclusive wine list critically before dramatically pointing at a selection and exclaiming, "That one!"

"The Château Pichon-Longueville Comtesse de Lalande 1988 Grand Cru Classé."

"Right. An expensive wine I can't pronounce. We'll have it."

The waiter eyed their empty bottle with concern. "It is a very expensive vintage, sir - our most expensive, in fact. And you've already had a number of bottles…"

Nikola cracked his fingers impatiently, the height of disdain and arrogance dripping from his voice. "Look here, skippy. I'm the reason you can waste all of your precious time texting, listening to garbage music and chatting with your moronic friends about the inanities of your life on a single device that fits into your pocket. I'm the person you want to thank when you go back to your overpriced, trendy little rat-infested loft apartment and the lights come on. Every device and gadget you use to make your life easier, and that has astoundingly helped you achieve a high school level education is _thanks to me_."

The waiter stood dumbfounded as Nikola unwound from his much-needed tirade and raised his eyebrows menacingly. "I accept offerings and donations of your lifelong gratitude and humility. I also expect excellent service. Get moving."

The waiter hurried off and Helen could see dark looks amongst the kitchen staff and grumbles of "Microsoft money". She'd have to send the restaurant manager a fruit basket in the morning.

"And now that your good humour has returned…" Helen remarked dryly. And indeed, Nikola sat grinning like a bastard after the display of outrageous behavior. The waiter returned very quickly with their wine, a storm cloud on his face, and left just as quickly.

Nikola poured her a generous glass of the prohibitively expensive, and legendary wine. His mood took a slightly more serious tone as he set down the bottle.

"In truth, Helen, I wanted you here as a friend of over a century. Someone I trust and admire, in order to share something very special to me."

She couldn't help but smile. He was impossible, but he was a charming scamp. Nikola raised his glass with a flourish. "I propose a toast…to the very day Thomas Edison died. Thieving bastard."

Helen laughed and they clinked their glasses together in cheers.

She wasn't sure how much longer her good humour would keep once the bill arrived.

FIN


End file.
